


Tangled! Swanfire AU

by zoe19blink



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010) Fusion, F/M, Humor, Silly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:12:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5591053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoe19blink/pseuds/zoe19blink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SWANFIRE TANGLED AU: in which Regina is desperate to stay young, so she steals Baby Emma for her magic potential. Neal is a thief, trying to buy his way out of the kingdom, and Emma is just a girl, tired of being trapped behind four walls. Cuteness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“‘A child born of true love’?” Regina repeated incredulously. “ _That’s_ what you’re telling me, a child born of _true love?_ ”

“Yep,” the imp nodded, his hands behind his back. “If you want to stay young and beautiful, you’re going to need magic, sweetheart. And you’re not going to find a better source of magic than the product of true love. Believe me—I’ve seen the future, and honey, it gets ugly if you don’t do this.” He leaned in confidentially, raising his eyebrows. _“Really_ ugly.”

“Oh—“ Regina anxiously touched a hand to her face. She had been the most beautiful woman in the entire kingdom for as far back as anyone could remember…and it was slowly starting to dwindle. Pretty girls were popping up every day, with faces as sweet and fresh as roses;  Regina, meanwhile, was fighting a battle with her looming seniority. Forty wasn't old…but it wasn't young, either. She had tried spells, herbs, special diets—none of it was working. The wrinkles kept coming, the hair kept graying…Rumplestiltskin was her last chance. 

The creature—whatever he was, funny little man—was skilled in the ways of magic, and had an ear for gossip. He knew things others didn’t, found loopholes and solutions for any problem you presented him, conjured a potion for every woe and worry—

But he had nothing for aging. 

All he had was a suggestion.

Fine. She’d take it.

But _true love?_

“What does that even mean, _true love?_ ” Regina asked helplessly, dropping her hand. “Where the hell am I supposed to find that?”

“You’re in luck,” Rumple said, holding up a finger. “There’s a kingdom about a day’s journey from here—very nice place, very classy—and the queen and king are nauseatingly in love. _Still._ After marriage and everything. Marriage,” he snorted. “Let me tell you something about marriage. My wife—“

“Yeah, no, I don’t care about that,” Regina frowned, shaking her head. “Tell me about this king and queen.”

“Well, they’ve got a new baby girl,” Rumple said. “A product of true love, so to speak. You get your hands on that baby, and you’ve got enough magic to keep you looking like a hot twenty-something for the rest of your life.”

“Ooh, I like that,” Regina smiled, relishing the words _hot twenty-something._ “So, what do I do? Put the kid in a potion and dab twice daily or something?”

“No,” Rumple said, raising an eyebrow at her readiness to sacrifice a baby for its anti-wrinkling-benefits. “You’ve got to keep magic alive for it to keep working. It’s a treatment, not a cure. You’re going to have to keep this kid alive and well, if _you_ want to look alive and well—and not like a decrepit old granny.”

“How dare you!” Regina gasped, putting a hand to her heart. “Don’t you ever say anything like that again!”

“Oh, does motherhood scare you so, Regina?” Rumple asked dryly.

“No, the part about being a—a—you _know!_ ” Regina folded her arms tightly across her chest, glaring at the floor as she paced. “Okay,” she said grimly. “Looks like I’m going to have to learn how to braid pigtails. I’m getting that baby girl. Tonight.”

 

* * *

 

It was actually a lot easier than she thought it was going to be.

Regina had drawn up this whole plan, about sneaking past the guards, maybe slicing a few throats, scaling the wall outside the princess’s tower…Actually, all she had to do was knock on the door, and one of the kitchen boys let her in. He couldn't have been older than six or seven, but Regina quailed under his direct stare.

“Yeah?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Uh—hey,” she said, feeling awkward with the heavy black cloak covering her face. “I’m, uh…I’m the fairy godmother.”

The boy looked completely nonplussed. “Okay.”

“So…I was just going to go in there, and do some….fairy godmotherly things.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Regina scooted past him, keeping her face down. “Thanks.”

She hovered in the hall for a moment, looking around at the vast stone room. And this was just the foyer. _How the hell was she supposed to find a nursery, if she couldn't even find her way out of the damn parlor?_

“Excuse me, little boy,” she said, calling the kid back. “But I don’t suppose you could help me find the nursery? Fair godmothers have no sense of direction.”

“Okay,” he shrugged. 

She followed him down a hall, through a few turns, up a couple staircases… _there._

“Oh, wow,” she said, blinking. Even if she hadn't brought him along, she’d’ve been able to find it. It was impossible to miss: it had a huge pink banner with the words _It’s A Girl!_ printed across it in obnoxiously big letters, plus balloon and streamers, and confetti scattered on the floor. Regina let out a low whistle as she gently tugged at the door.

“Come on,” she muttered. “Damn! Locked.”

“Here,” the boy said, pulling two thin metal rods out of his pocket. He stuck them in the lock and wiggled them, listening intently. “It’s all in the tumblers,” he explained in a loud whisper. 

Regina’s eyebrows rose. “Thanks, kid.”

“’S’nothing,” he shrugged, the lock clicking as he turned the handle. “There you go.”

Regina patted his head, smiling. “You’ve been very helpful,” she told him, and swept into the room. 

She walked slowly toward the lavishly decorated cradle (it had a canopy and everything), and lifted the curtain to peer inside at the little girl. She was so sweet-looking, with a little rosebud mouth and tufts of blonde hair….It was very easy to believe she had magic pulsing through her veins.

Regina picked her up gingerly, smiling uncertainly as she held the squirmy little baby to her chest. God, this was weird. Babies seemed to have springs in them, that allowed them to stretch from side to side, curl their backs, wriggle around like a worm—

“Okay, hon,” she muttered, grimacing. “Stop—settle down, now—oh, come on, just go back to sleep!”

She sighed heavily as the baby gave her a grumpy look and wiggled a little more shaking her fists. “You’re going to be trouble, I can tell,” Regina told her. “Motherhood will be the death of me.”

 

* * *

 

 

The baby looked up at them curiously, feebly kicking her legs. Regina and her manservant, Graham, cocked their heads, frowning at it. 

“It’s awfully small,” Graham said finally.

“It’s a baby, what do you expect?” 

“I just didn't know they were that small.”

“Hmph.” Regina gingerly reached under the baby’s arms and lifted her up. She pulled a face as the baby squealed and kicked its legs more insistently. “Stop squirming. Stop—baby, please—oh, _take her_!” she said, pushing the baby at Graham. He stepped back, startled, cradling the baby uncertainly as Regina looked over his shoulder.

“She’s actually kind of sweet,” Graham said after a minute. Hesitantly, he reached out a finger and tickled her under the chin. “You’re such a sweetheart, aren't you?” he cooed as the baby shrieked in delight. “Yes, you are, my precious. Yes, you are—“

“That’s enough,” Regina said authoritatively, taking the baby back. She had to admit, it was fairly cute—if you went for that big-eyed, plump-cheeked, adorable kind of thing. “She’s going to need a name.”

“But you always tell me not to name them, or I’ll get too attached,” Graham frowned.

“She’s not a chicken I’m going to cook for dinner,” Regina said irritably. “She’s going to be here the rest of her life. I need _something_ to yell up the stairs.”

“The rest of her life?” Graham repeated. “I thought she was an ingredient.”

“Nope,” Regina said, looking down at her grimly. “Rumplestiltskin says her hair will carry enough magic to make a potion to last me a year. I’m going to need her a lot longer than that.” She snapped her fingers impatiently. “Come on, help me think of a name.”

“Well…let’s see, when I was a boy I had a goat I called ‘Emma’—“

“Perfect.” Regina smiled briskly at the baby, nodding her head. “You’re Emma. Hope that works for you.”

The baby squealed, apparently delighted that she had been named for a goat.

“She really is sweet, though,” Graham said fondly, reaching out to tickle her again. Regina almost smiled.

“I suppose.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Emma _was_ sweet. And mischievous and affectionate and rambunctious and almost unbearably cute. Regina absolutely adored her. So did Graham, but he was just the manservant who burst into tears at the drop of a hat. Regina was her _mother._

And like any mother, her love was also mingled with exasperation because Emma was such a…well, such a _lively_ child. By four years of age, she could run faster than either of them, often darting into those impossible hiding places that only a child can manage. When food was set in front of her, she carefully picked out what she didn't like and flung it against the wall. And when it was time for bed, she made Graham tell her one bedtime story after another until he had fallen asleep, and then she went back to running around the castle as she so loved to do.

Emma really outdid herself in terms of being difficult when it came to her annual haircut. “Come on, darling, come to Mummy,” Regina would say sweetly, holding the scissors behind her back. Emma would eye her suspiciously, taking a few hesitant steps forward. 

“That’s it, poppet,” Graham would say, creeping behind Regina. They smiled at her like a pair of snakes. Sooner or later, Emma’s eyes would catch the glint of light reflecting off the scissors, and she would let out a protesting scream and try to run away on her little legs. 

“No, no, baby!” Graham would say desperately, scooping her up as she tried to dart past him. Emma would kick her legs, throwing her head back and crying tragically; until she finally gave up, sagging dejectedly, burying her face in his shoulder while Regina carefully snipped the necessary three-quarters-inch of blonde hair for her potion.

But Emma was more than just a fountain of youth to her: she was her baby girl. She was her baby girl, even when she pestered Regina with questions about why she couldn't go past the castle grounds; why every year on her birthday she saw lights floating in the sky amongst the stars; why Regina wouldn't let her grow her hair out, because seriously Mom, it was _her_ hair. 

She was her baby girl, even when Emma hit her eighteenth birthday and begged Regina to let her out, let her take a horse and ride to the kingdom.

“Please, Mom?” Emma said, following her through the hall. “I need fresh air. I need _freedom._ ”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Regina snorted. “Freedom’s overrated, it always has been. And fresh air is bad for your health.”

“Mom, _please._ ” Emma took her arm and turned her around to look at her pleadingly with enormous green eyes. “Please let me go?”

Regina sighed heavily, placing a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Well, sweetheart, if that’s really what you want…”

Emma smiled hopefully.

“I’m going to have to say ‘ _hells no._ ’”

The smile slid off her face. “What?”

“You’re just a little girl, Emma, you don’t understand—“

“I am _not_ a little girl!” Emma snapped. Regina raised her eyes to the ceiling.

“All right, you’re not a little girl. _But,_ I am still your mother, and I say ‘no’.”

“This is so unfair!” Emma whirled around furiously, stalking off to her bedroom in the eastern tower. “SO UNFAIR!”

“Whoever said life was fair?” Regina called after her. “I didn’t!”

 

* * *

 

 

Emma slammed the door of her bedroom, and leaned against it, folded her arms tightly across her chest as she glared across the room. 

Why did her mother _insist_ on keeping her trapped in this stupid castle? She couldn't breathe here! The only people she’d ever spoken to in her entire life were Regina and Graham (Regina only hired mute, illiterate servants, for some reason). She just wanted to get _out,_ see the world…do _something,_ something beyond these four walls!

“It’s too dangerous, “ Regina would tell her whenever she asked to come with her on one of her journeys. “The world is an evil place, I don't want you getting hurt.”

“Oh, you don’t want to go out there, kiddo,” Graham would say whenever she asked him to help her sneak out for a little. “It’s a terrible place, you’re much safer here.”

 _But I don’t_ care _if it’s dangerous,_ Emma thought, unfolding her arms and walking over to her window. She sighed, resting her on top of her folded hands. Tomorrow night, the sky would be lit with the floating lights; she would stay here in bedroom, gazing at them, wondering what they meant…It was probably just a coincidence that it fell on her birthday, but she couldn't help but feel they were somehow meant for _her._

“One of these days,” she said to herself, here eyes tracing the skyline of the kingdom. “One of these days, I’m going to go there. I’m going to see it for myself.”

Regina couldn't keep her locked up here forever.

Okay, probably for a while. But not forever.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Neal peered around the corner: there were two guards, lazily leaning against the wall. One was half-asleep; the other was full-asleep. 

He grinned. _Perfect._

Neal crept out from behind his corner, shifting the satchel around his neck. It had been one of his more brilliant ideas, if he did say so himself, to sneak into the castle through the kitchens. They barely had any guards down here (what, like someone was going to sneak in and steal the turnips?), just the two obligatory guards stationed by the entrance hall. 

Aha, but he didn't _need_ to go through the entrance hall.

He sighed contentedly, shaking his head at his own cleverness as he pulled two thin rods out of his satchel, and set to work on picking the lock on the “broom closet”.

It looked like a forgotten door in a dusty corner, to anyone who didn't know the castle like him; but Neal recognized it as one of the secret passageways the king and queen used during times of siege or war or desperation to avoid the paparazzi to escape the castle. Fourteen years of working in the kitchens had given him intimate knowledge of every nook and cranny; and ten years of good, honest thievery had taught him how to _use_ said knowledge to his best advantage. 

He hummed softly to himself, slipping through the door and into the passageway; trailing his hand along the wall as he counted off the flights of steps…three, four, _five—_ there. He bumped his shoulder against the door to open it, poking his head out to make sure there was no one patrolling the hallway.

 _Excellent._ Neal smiled to himself as he strolled down the empty hallway. The universe seemed to be in a good mood today 

He stopped in front of the door, looking fondly at it: how many years ago had he stood in front of it, gazing at the stupid pink streamers and the obnoxious banner…his first break-in job. _Ah, you never forget your first._ He twirled the rods between his fingers and stuck them in the lock.

“All in the tumblers,” he said to himself, for old times’ sake. The door resisted slightly when he pushed against it, having been infrequently opened for the past eighteen years, but with a little persuasion, it gave way and he could step inside the empty nursery.

His eyes instantly caught the little glimmer from the crown perched on the plump, velvet pillow. Neal was aware that it had been waiting eighteen years for the Lost Princess to return home…but he preferred to think of it as waiting eighteen years for Neal Cassidy to use to buy his passage out of the kingdom, which had become _way_ too familiar with his face to make outlawing convenient anymore.

He smiled, plucking it off the pillow in one swift motion and holding it up to the moonlight. “Hello, beautiful,” he breathed, kissing the crown. “I love you. I will never leave you. Until I sell you.”

He stuffed it unceremoniously into the satchel, sweeping his gaze around the room for any other little trinkets he might want to pick up. _Ah, well,_ he thought, slightly disappointed as he snuck back outside the room. _Crown’s enough._ He looked side to side, checking for guards, and inched away from the door…

“Hey, you!”

Neal whirled around wildly, seeing two guards charging toward him, drawing their swords. He spun on his heel, putting on a burst of speed. 

Frantically, he flung the passage door open, practically flying down the stairs, swinging himself around the landing.

“Get back here!”

“Yeah, okay—give me a sec, I’ll be right there!” he threw back over his shoulder, racing down the steps until his feet were a blur. He burst through the door, darting away from a few more guards; putting on a spur of speed as he skated through the kitchen, swinging out his arms to upset the pots and pans on the counter to slow the guards down.

He flung the door open, and rushed into the night, running toward the little middle of trees outside the castle walls where two raggedly-dressed men waited. 

“Go! _Go!_ ” he hissed, waving them on frantically. 

“Wait—where’s the bloody crown?” Will demanded.

 “It’s in the satchel, now just _GO!_ ”

The three outlaws fled, jumping fallen logs and swerving through the dense trees as the drawbridge slowly creaked down, horse hooves hammering against the wooden planks as soldier raced after them.

 

* * *

 

 

“Emma?”

Emma glowered at the door as Graham tentatively knocked on it. “I’m not opening it, just so you know!” she said loudly.

Graham sighed in exasperation. _“Emma…_ ”

“No!”

“Look, you can’t stay in there forever. You’re going to get hungry eventually.”

“I’ll hunt birds and…stuff.”

“No, you’re not. Open the door, honey.”

Emma folded her arms tightly across her chest, backing up against the wall. “ _She’s_ the one who wants to keep me in here forever!” she shouted, hoping Regina could hear her through the walls. “I’m just doing what she wants!”

“You don’t want to say goodbye?” Graham asked pleadingly. “We’re going to be gone for three days, sweetheart. I’m going to miss you.”

Emma’s brow twitched frustratedly: she could practically _hear_ the puppy-dog-eyes in his voice, and she could never resist Graham’s puppy-dog-eyes. “ _Fine,_ ” she huffed, crossing the room in a few strides. She turned the lock, and swung the door open to Graham—and Regina, _damn it, Graham!_

“Surprise!” Regina said delightedly, throwing her hands up. Emma immediately tried to shut the door again, but Regina swiftly stuck her foot in the doorway.

“Let us in, Emma!” Graham wheedled.

“ _Traitor!_ ”

“He’s not a traitor, Emma, stop being so _dramatic,_ ” Regina said, rolling her eyes. “Now, let your poor, ailing mother in before she dies of heartbreak outside your bedroom.”

“Who’s being dramatic, milady?” Graham muttered.

“I’m not letting you in, so forget it,” Emma said in a strained voice, trying to push the door shut. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” Regina grunted, struggling against it. “Graham, get over here—put some of that muscle to good use, huh?”

“Back away from the door, sweetie, I don’t want to hurt you!” Graham called out. “One—two—three—“

Emma backed away just as he shoved against the door, sending him and Regina stumbling to the floor. They groaned, slowly easing themselves up.

“That wasn't nice, darling,” Graham winced, inhaling sharply as Regina leaned her weight against him to pull herself up. She ignored him, dusting off her dress and giving Emma an irritable look.

“ _You_ wanted to come in,” Emma shrugged. 

Regina narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get an attitude with me, missy,” she warned, stepping closer. She stopped in front of her, and held out her arms. “Now, give me a hug, I’m going to miss you very much.”

Emma grudgingly allowed Regina to pull her into a hug. “I’ll miss you, too,” she muttered. Graham came up behind her and placed a hand on the small of her back, smiling as she turned to hug him goodbye. 

“I’ll miss you, honey,” he murmured into her hair. 

“Are you sure I can’t come with you?” she pleaded, pulling away to look between them. “ _Please_?”

“No,” Regina said instantly. “You’re just a little girl—“

“A child,” Graham agreed.

“You’ll get hurt—“

“—or lost—“

“—or kidnapped—“

“—or murdered—“

“—anything could happen—“

“—and it’s all _bad.”_

“I’m not a child!” Emma insisted.

“Yes, you are!” Regina flared. “And I’m your mother, and I know better! So if I say the world’s too dangerous for you to leave the safety of this castle, you will _stay_ in this castle! Do you understand?”

“But Mom—“

“This discussion is over!” Regina said loudly, holding up a hand. “Graham, if we’re going to make it by nightfall, we have to leave now. It’ll take us all day to get there, stops not included.”

“Yes, milady.”  

Graham gave Emma an apologetic smile over his shoulder as he followed Regina out of the room; he paused, taking the handle to close the door behind him.

“Happy birthday, honey.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Faster! Faster!”

“I can’t _go_ any faster!”

“Both of you shut up!” Neal shouted, hearing the thundering horse hooves gaining on them. Will and Robin glared at each other, but they kept running.

They hopped over logs, swerved trees, their feet pounding the ground, kicking up dust—

Neal skidded as they hit a dead end: a ledge, the tip of it _just_ unreachable. If they let him climb on their shoulders, he’d be able to pull himself  up, and the guards would be forced to go the long way around.

“All right, come on,” he said to the other two. “Give me a boost.”

“Give you a boost?” Robin scoffed, exchanging an incredulous look with Will. “What, so you can take off with the crown and leave us to get captured by the bloody army? I don’t _think_ so, mate!”

Neal put his hand to his heart in a injured way. “You really think I would abandon you like that?”

“Yes,” Will said bluntly. 

“Guys—“ Neal spread his arms, looking between the two of them. “I can’t believe, after all our time together, you don't _trust_ me. I thought we were friends!”

“Oh, we are,” Robin said, smiling humorlessly. “So why don't you let me be a friend, and hold onto that satchel for you while we give you a boost?”

“You mean, this satchel?” Neal asked, dangling it in his left hand. Robin reached for it, but he swung it of reach. “I have to tell you, guys—I’m really hurt.”

“You’ll get over it,” Will smirked. “Now, hand it over, Cassidy.”

“All right, if you insist,” he sighed, dropping the satchel in his hand. Will threw the strap over his shoulder, and motioned for Robin to help him lift Neal to the top of the ledge. 

“Hurry up,” Robin grunted as Neal’s boot narrowly missed kicking him in the face.  Neal grabbed a tree root, pulling himself up, his other boot scrabbling up the side. His hand found its way to the top, gripping the edge as tightly as he could; he swing his leg over the side— _there!_

“All right,” Will said, reaching his hand out. “Now pull us up.”

“Pull you up?” Neal repeated, looking over the ledge at them. “Why would I do that?”

“‘Cause we’ve got the bloody crown!” Robin snapped. “Now come on!”

“ _Oh_ , I don’t know about that…” Neal reached into his pocket, and pulled out the little silver tiara. Their eyes widened as he dangled it from his fingers.

“No—!”

“How did you—?”

“‘Follow the Lady’, boys,” he grinned. “Give the general my regards—I’ve got a ship to catch.”

“CASSIDY!” they shouted furiously after him as he took off, running at top speed through the thicker part of the forest.

He didn't know which direction he was going in, all he knew was that he wanted to put as much distance between him and the guards as possible. He ducked tree branches, jumped logs, darted around thickets and boulders, all the while paranoid that the horses’ hooves were getting closer and closer. 

 _I need somewhere to hide,_ he thought frantically. Anywhere— _anywhere—_ would do! Maybe there was a forest hut somewhere, or a hollow tree, or a—

_Whoa._

He stopped, staring openmouthed at the ancient-looking castle that stood in the middle of the clearing. It looked abandoned, as far as he could tell: the stones were weather beaten and crumbling, the tower was missing several bricks—which would make for great footholds, since the water-worn drawbridge was pulled up and blocking the door. 

Neal smiled up at the sky, silently thanking who- or whatever it was that was giving him such good luck today. _That’ll do._

 

* * *

 

 

Emma glared out the window, tapping her fingers against the sill. _This. Sucks._

She wasn't a child—she was _eighteen years old._ How many more birthdays did she have to have before she could have a life of her own? Before she could get away from this castle? Before she could see the world?

Before she could set her own bedtime? For God’s sake…

Honestly, she’d thought it had been a very reasonable request: after all, Regina and Graham were going to be there, so what was the harm? It wasn't like she was going to run off and join the circus, or start a gang, or something—she just wanted a little fresh air, the chance to stretch her legs, talk to some people…What was so terrible about wanting to get to know the world a little better?

 _It’s dangerous._ Well, so was reading. Think of the paper cuts.

 _I don’t want you to get hurt._ Again. Paper cuts. The risk was very real.

 _Anything could happen._ Wasn't that the point? Being cooped up here, doing the same thing, day after day after day—

There was a scuffling sound outside. Emma sat bolt upright, her ears perking as the sound became louder: it sounded like… _footsteps._ Clambering up the staircase—toward _her._

Emma shrank against the wall, her heart thudding painfully in her chest as the footsteps came closer. Oh, God! It was a fiend, wasn't it? Oh, _God,_ not a fiend, anything, but a fiend! 

 _Wait,_ she thought suddenly. This was her chance. This was her chance to prove to Regina that she could take care of herself, that she was _not_ a helpless little girl! She was a strong young woman who could defend herself, no matter what dangers the world threw at her! She determinedly cast her gaze around the room, searching for something she could use as a weapon:

A book—? S _tupid._

A hairbrush—? _Humiliatingly stupid._

A frying pan—? _Why the hell is that in my room?_

She snapped her head up as the someone rattled the doorknob. _It’ll have to do!_ she thought, frantically snatching the frying pan. She held her breath, standing against the wall as the lock slowly turned, clicking as the someone jimmied it open.

“All in the tumblers,” she heard a male voice say. Then: “You know, I really gotta find a new catchphrase.”

The door eased open, and a young man stepped in, swiveling his head from side to side. Apparently thinking he was alone, he let out a satisfied breath, folding his arms across his chest.

“Not bad, Cassidy,” he said, looking around in appreciation. “Not bad at— _oomph!_ ”

Emma blinked, watching him drop to the ground. She hadn't even realized she’d swung the pan, but there was an unconscious man at her feet, so… _Wow,_ she thought, rather impressed with herself. _I did that._

Tentatively, she leaned a little closer, nudging him with her foot. “Hello?” she said softly. “Hel _—lo?_ ”

Definitely unconscious. 

Emma lowered the pan, tilting her head as she studied him. Who was this guy? How did he even _get_ here? _Where did he come from?_ She turned her head quickly, looking out the window at the distant outline of the kingdom. Then looked back at the guy. Back at the window. Back at the guy. The window.The guy. Window. Guy. Window. Guy. Window—

“Are you from _there?_ ” she gasped. 

He didn't answer. _Duh._

“Right. Forgot.” Emma put her hands on her hips, exhaling as she looked around the room. She didn't know what to do with him; he wasn't going to stay unconscious _forever…_ (she quickly pressed her fingers to his wrist, breathing out a sigh of relief when she found his pulse). Yeah, he wasn't going to stay unconscious _forever._

 _“_ All right,” she sighed, bending down to grab his wrists. “Let’s do this.”

She gave him an impatient tug, struggling to pull him backwards. “ _Come on,_ ” she said through clenched teeth. _“Come—_ whoa!”

She had tripped over something that had rolled out of his pocket. Emma winced, rubbing the back of her head as she bent down to investigate the little glint of silver.

“What the…?” She frowned, slowly lifting it up to the light. It was a crown: simple, but elegant. Probably belonged to some airy-fairy princess…

…which he definitely was _not._

Emma narrowed her eyes at him disapprovingly as she rose to a stand, keeping the crown firmly clasped in her hand. So, _this_ was what he was doing here: he had stolen this crown and needed a place to hide. He probably though he was going to get away with it, hiding out here for a few day,s and then running off with his crown to do….whatever else thieves did besides thieving. _Well,_ he was going to have to think of something else, because he wasn't getting this back. 

At least, not for free. 

 

* * *

 

 

Neal slowly lifted his head, wincing against the harsh sunlight piercing his eyes. 

“What the—?” His vision was still too blurry to quite make out his surroundings, but his chest felt oddly constricted… _Oh, damn it._ He shifted his shoulders, trying to loosen the ropes that bound him to the wooden chair, but it was no use: whoever had tied these had done a thorough job.

 _Okay, don’t panic,_ he told himself, trying to steady his hammering heart. _Let’s just remain calm and figure out the situation._

He rolled his head around a few times, inhaling sharply at the pain:  it ached, like he had smacked it against a stone wall or something. _Had_ he? He couldn't quite remember, things were a little fuzzy right now.

Let’s see… he had climbed the tower until he reached one of the archer windows, that was still very fresh in his mind. Then there was a staircase—a really, really long one. He had climbed for what felt like _hours_ (but was probably only ten or fifteen minutes), and then there was a wooden door…uh…what happened next? 

“Looking for this?”

Neal snapped his head up, instantly regretting it: his eyes watered in pain, turning his vision even blurrier, but he could make out the vague outline of a girl with long blonde hair, dangling something shiny from her fingers…

_The crown._

“Hey,” Neal said instantly. “Hey, that’s not yours.”

“Oh, I know,” the girl said, sounding supremely unconcerned. “But it’s not yours, either, is it?”

She walked closer, pointing what looked like a…frying pan at him. Neal raised an eyebrow as she rested the tip at his neck. 

“Is that supposed to intimidate me?”

The girl’s eye twitched, and she shoved it more forcefully against his neck. “No.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” Neal fidgeted as much as he could, struggling against the ropes. “You gonna untie me, or what?”

“I’ll ask the questions, thank you.” The girl smirked at him, twirling the pan around in a circle and bumping it on the palm of her hand. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?”

The girl frowned. “Are you deaf, or stupid? I just said, _I’m_ asking the questions.”

“Sassy,” Neal grinned. “I like that.” He gave a modest little shrug. “The name’s Neal Cassidy. I’m kind of a big deal.”

“Is that so?” she said dryly. 

“Oh, you better believe it’s so.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” The girl began to walk in a slow circle around him, eyeing him suspiciously. “Where did you get the crown?”

“Don’t remember.”

She stopped, frowning at him. “You’re lying.”

“Yes.”

“Then where did you get the crown?”

“Not telling.” 

She looked frustrated. “If you don’t tell me, you’re not getting it back.”

“Oh, did you plan on giving it back to me?”

“No.”

“Hmm…We seem to be at an impasse.” Neal blew out a breath, looking down at ropes binding his arms and legs. “So, you gonna untie me?”

“Why would I do that?” she scoffed. “You’re my prisoner, and I’m interrogating you.”

Neal smiled. “You’re adorable. Really. Frying pan’s a little weird, but I’ll give you points for creativity. _However—_ “ he struggled a little more against the ropes—“I really do need to be on my way, so if you could just be a lamb and untie me…?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on!” he snapped. 

“You’re a fiend!” she accused. “You’re thieving, lying, dangerous fiend! Why would I untie you?”

“Look, Blondie, all I want to do is get out of here. I’m not gonna hurt you, I just want to take my crown and _go._ Okay?”

“My name isn’t _Blondie,_ ” she said witheringly, folding her arms. “It’s Emma.”

“Emma,” he repeated, forcing a smile on his face. “Very cute. Well, Emma—what do you say? Just snip these ropes, toss me the crown, and I’ll be out of your way in no time.”

Emma looked at him for a long time, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you what, _Neal Cassidy,”_ she said, taking a few deliberate steps toward him. “I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

Neal lifted his chin. “I’m listening.”

“I’m going to let you go,” Emma decided, making her circular rounds again. “And then I’m going to find my left shoe, so I can come with you. Because _you’re_ going take me to the kingdom, and then you’re going to show me the floating lights, and then you’re going to take me home. At which point, I will retrieve your precious crown, and you can be on your way to wherever it is you’re going.” She stopped abruptly, pointing the frying pan at him. “Do we have a deal?”

“ _Do we have a deal?_ Uh, _no._ ” Neal scoffed at the offended expression on her face. “That’s ridiculous. We’re just supposed to _trust_ each other than everyone’s going to keep their word?”

Emma braced her hand against the back of his chair, leaning in to look at him intently. “I promise.”

Neal crinkled his brow. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, I _promise,_ ” Emma repeated firmly. “And believe me, I have never broken a promise. Not ever. Well, maybe once. But I won’t break this one. I promise.”

“Are you—?” Neal stared at her in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious.” 

“You _promise?_ That’s my insurance, is that you _promise_ you won’t double-cross me?”

“Hey, between the two of us, I’m the honest one,” Emma retorted. “You’re a thief and a liar and probably homeless, now that I think about it. You barged into _my_ tower, remember? If any of us should be worried about being double-crossed, it’s me.” 

Neal frowned as Emma drew back, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at him. He didn't like that look on her face: she was thinking something, probably not a good something…not for him, anyway.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully. “It just occurred to me…you could just grab the crown right out of my hands and make a run for it. I’m going to have to hide this.”

“That’s kind of pointless,” Neal snorted. “I’m right here, I’ll be able to see you.”

Emma raised her eyebrows coolly. “Oh,will you?”

She swung the pan again—

* * *

 

Neal winced in pain, blinking his eyes back into focus. There was a fresh bump on his head, still throbbing mercilessly, and he was fairly confident that it was going to be there for a while. He raised his head, squinting at a very satisfied-looking Emma; the crown was no where in sight.

“It’s somewhere you’ll never find,” she declared, folding her arms over her chest. “So don’t even try.”

Neal glanced around the room for a place where a young girl would choose to hide a tiara. “It’s in your pillowcase, isn’t it?”

Emma’s smile dropped. Neal’s eyes widened as he caught the flash of silver—

“No, don’t—!”

* * *

“Okay,” Emma’s voice said, sounding very echoey and wavering. “ _Now_ it’s hidden somewhere you’ll never find. For real this time.”

Neal closed his eyes as his head gave a particularly nasty throb of pain, clenching his teeth. “You’re a lot stronger than you look, you know?” 

“I get that,” Emma said cheerfully. “So, what do you say, _Neal Cassidy—_ you ready to take me up on my deal?”

Neal exhaled, raising his eyes to look into her shining face. “All I have to do is take you to the kingdom with the floating lights, bring you back, and you’ll give me my crown?”

“That’s all you have to do,” she said firmly, nodding her head. 

Neal furrowed his brow, thinking. Well, he could skate around a couple of guards for _one_ more day, couldn't he? It wasn't like he could leave without the crown, it was supposed to pay for his passage out of here. And Emma seemed like a…well, not a nice girl, she got a little carried away with the frying pan, but a simple girl: it wasn't like he really expected her to be able to pull one over him, and even if she could, he doubted she’d actually _do_ it. 

And who knew? Maybe he could just talk her into walking around a pub until she got tired and wanted to go home. Maybe they could avoid the kingdom altogether. And if not, he could just use the back alleys. So, really what was the harm?”

“All right,” he said, shrugging. “Deal.”

“Good answer.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

The horse clip-clopped unevenly on the unpaved dirt road, jostling the cart. Graham snapped the reins halfheartedly, and let out a loud sniff. Regina closed her eyes exasperatedly.

“Graham…please, try to control your mucus.”

“Sorry, milady,” he said tearfully, pulling out his hanky and blowing his nose loudly. “I’m a bit emotional today.”

Regina tutted impatiently. “Whatever for? I’ve barely said two words to you today!”

“Emma,” he said, his shoulders drooping. “She’s so grown up now…she’s going to want to leave us, my precious little baby girl.”

“She’s not going to leave us,” Regina said firmly. “That’s what the tower’s for, you idiot.”

“But she _wants_ to,” Graham insisted. “She’s miserable, Regina. She wants to go out and live her own life. Away from _us!”_

 _“_ Away from you,” Regina corrected, holding her head high. “You suffocate her, Graham.”

“ _I_ suffocate her?” he repeated incredulously. “You’re the one who locked her in a tower!”

“Stop yelling, and keep your eyes on the road!” she snapped back. “We don’t have time for this!”

Every trip to the market involved an argument at one point or another. They always went to one at least three towns over, rotating every month so no one could follow their patterns: Regina was determined to keep their identity as secret as possible, just in case anyone had any ideas about following them home and finding their tower and stealing her precious little baby/ beauty treatment supplier away. But the journey was too long for her and Graham to remain peaceful the entire time. Sometimes they argued about what they should buy; what they already bought; whether or not that merchant looked at her funny; but most of the time, it was about Emma. 

Graham constantly pleaded to give her a little chance to explore the world, to let her see it for herself. “We’ll keep her close,” he promised. “Please, Regina? I hate seeing her so upset.”

“Well, at least you’re still seeing her!” Regina would retort. “If we take a magical child out into that world, do you know what will happen? They’ll whisk her away, to study her in cold, leaky dungeons! And they might chain her to a wall, and poke her with sticks! Is that what you want, Graham? Do you want them to poke her with sticks?”

Graham would silently shake his head.

“Not to mention, her stupid parents might…” And that was the part where Regina would clear her throat loudly, and dab at the mysterious moisture in her eyes, before declaring Graham an idiot and changing the subject entirely. 

“She’s eighteen,” Graham said woefully. “Where did the time go? I can still see her as a little baby, pattering down the hall…”

Regina swallowed hard. “Her little pigtails bouncing around…”

“Tea parties with Mr. Fuzzy-Nose,” he sniffed. “How she always used to spit in my hair when it was time for her bath.”

“Throwing her food against the wall,” Regina said tearily, drawing a finger under her eyes. “Throwing tantrums in the stairwell.”

“And now she’s a beautiful young lady!” Graham sobbed, passing the reins to Regina so he could cry into his hands. “Some boy is going to steal her away, and we’ll never see her again!”

“That won’t happen,” Regina said, shaking her head furiously. “She’s going to live with us forever and ever and ever!”

“And ever?” he choked.

“And a million evers.”

 

* * *

 

 

She swung over the side of the bed, sweeping her hand to move the scattered papers and drawing pencils to the side. “Come on,” she muttered, tossing the rubbish out from under the bed. “Where are you?”

“You find your shoe yet?” Neal asked from across the room, examining his nails as he leaned against the wall. 

“No,” was the muffled response. “I don’t know where I…wait!”

Emma leapt off the bed, and scrambled to the dresser beside Neal. “I threw it across the room the other day,” she explained, moving his feet out of the way. 

“Threw it across the room? Well, that sounds very mature— _whoa!”_ He stumbled back as she wormed her way underneath, fishing out the little black shoe; she triumphantly waved it in the air before tugging it over her foot.

“There!” she beamed, and held out her hands. “Here, help me up.”

Neal raised his eyebrows, but obediently pulled her to a stand. “Okay,” he said, dropping her hands instantly and brushing his off on his trousers. “Ready to go?”

“Almost.” Emma darted back to the other side of the room to retrieve the frying pan. Neal made an exasperated sound when he saw her running back with it.

“Seriously?” he said. “You’re bringing the frying pan?”

“I need something to protect myself, don’t I?” she said, eyeing it appreciatively. Neal rolled his eyes.

 _“I’ll_ protect you.”

“And who’s going to protect you?” Emma returned sweetly. She held the frying pan so close to his face, his eyes crossed. “The frying pan comes.”

“Fine,” he muttered, batting it away. “Let’s go.”

He allowed Emma to take the lead, trailing behind her as she padded down the stairs, through the little hall, and out the grounds-keeper’s door that Graham _always_ forgot to lock behind him. Neal looked astounded when she swung it open and held it for him.

“You mean, there was a door the whole time?” he demanded. “Are you kidding me?”

“You didn't know there was a door?” Emma frowned. “How’d you get in here?”

“Climbed up the wall ’til I found a big enough window to get through,” he said, still shaking his head in wonder as he stepped over the doorway. “How did I not see the door?”

Emma shrugged, and let the door shut behind her as she skipped after Neal. “So,” she said, the frying pan bouncing behind her back. “What’s your story, Neal?”

“My story?” he repeated, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Look, Emily—”

“Emma.”

“Like I care. All you need to know about my story is, I’m on the chapter where I take the little blonde thief to the kingdom with the floating lights so she’ll gave me my crown back.”

“Which you stole,” Emma said, feeling it was a bit rich of him to call _her_ a thief.

“I prefer to think of it as, redistributing wealth.”

They were approaching the edge of the clearing now, closing in on the grove of trees that guarded the entrance to the forest. Emma felt her heartbeat speed up, the breath suddenly leaving her lungs: she’d never gone further than this before. Graham and Regina had allowed her to run around in the open space under their hawklike gaze, but never let her set so much as her pinky toe into the forest.

Neal turned around quizzically, hearing her feet come to an abrupt halt. “Something wrong?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her fearful gaze. 

“I’m just…nervous,” she confessed. “My mom would _kill_ me, if she knew what I was doing right now.”

“Kill you?” Neal cocked his head, walking toward her. “What, for walking round your front yard?”

“No, for walking past it,” she said, nodding at the trees. “I’ve never gone further than the clearing.”

Neal’s eyebrows shot up. “ _Hmm,_ ” he said, thoughtfully rubbing his chin as he circled her. “Well, if you can’t handle this…I don’t know, Emma. Maybe you’re just not cut out for the outside world.”

Emma bit her lip, twisting her fingers around the pan. “You think I can’t do it?”

“Think of your mother,” Neal sighed sadly. “Your poor mother…I’m sure she only wants what’s best for you, and if this would upset her—well, there’s gotta be a reason, right?”

Emma looked at him worriedly. “…I guess so.”

“And if she could see you now—ignoring her rules, throwing her love and concern back in her face—it would _crush_ her, don’t you think? Break her heart into a million pieces.” He put a hand on her shoulder, tsking shamefully. “You couldn't do that to her, could you?”

“I…”

“The world is a dangerous place,” he went on. “It’s got thugs and pirates and bloodthirsty scoundrels. There’s disease, there’s war—don’t get me started on the mosquitoes.”

Emma frowned, hearing Regina’s and Graham’s words echo back to her. _Hey…_

“I’ll tell you what,” Neal said, gently turning her around. “We’ll go back to the tower, we can forget this whole thing ever happened—”

“No!” Emma wrenched away, and pointed the frying pan threateningly at him. “I’m going, Cassidy! Whether you like it or not, you are taking me to those floating lights! And I don’t want to hear another word from you trying to talk me out of it!”

“But—”

“ _Or_ you will never see your precious crown again! Do you understand me?”

Neal glowered. Emma pushed the frying pan closer, glaring at him.

“I said, _do you understand me?_ ”

“Yes!” he snapped. “Yes, fine, I understand you! Now get that thing out of my face!”

Emma gave him a smug smile, lowering the frying pan. “Glad we understand each other,” she said. “Now lead the way.”


	6. Chapter 6

Maybe it was just the effects of living a thief’s life for so long, but Emma was by far the noisiest traveling companion Neal had ever suffered.

“This is _so_ exciting!” she kept squealing, traipsing clumsily after him. Branches snapped against her shoulders, leaves crunched beneath her feet…Neal cringed at every sound: stealth and silence were habits he had long developed, so he could move through shadowed hallways and treasure rooms like a ghost. Emma seemed determined to do the exact opposite. It was a wonder the palace guards hadn't already tracked them down.

“Keep your voice down, okay?” he muttered. 

“Why?” she asked immediately. 

“Because—” Neal struggled to think of an excuse, not wanting to give her the opportunity to lecture him on the evils of outlawing—“because there’s wild animals in here! Dangerous ones. _Very_ dangerous.”

Emma raised her eyebrows skeptically. “What kind of animals?”

“Wolves,” he said promptly. “And probably, bears.”

“Well, then,” Emma said, looking extremely unconcerned as she swung her frying pan around her finger. “I guess we better pick up the pace before we run into any wolves or bears.”

Neal grimaced as she scampered ahead of him, louder than ever. Initially, he hadn't thought it was that bad a deal, their little arrangement: a little sightseeing in exchange for his safe passage out of a kingdom that would hang him for robbery, given the chance. But that was before he’d actually done much in the way of _traveling with Emma._ She chattered incessantly, taking care to remind him that she disapproved of his outlaw lifestyle; she was loud and clumsy, and completely unapologetic for it; and she seemed to have boundless energy that pushed her to do things like race ten feet ahead of him to climb a tree and study a robin’s nest. _Why_ she did that, Neal hadn't the foggiest idea: he assumed it had something to do with being cooped up in that tower. She’d been so cut off from the outside world, she didn't realize the things she was getting excited about were all quite normal and extremely boring—hardly justification for the delighted squeals that kept escaping her throat.

Even so, it was beyond annoying at this point. Some disillusionment was in order.

“Hey, you know what?” he said, catching her by the shoulders. “I’m starving, are you starving? You look starving.”

“I could eat,” Emma shrugged. “But I’m okay.”

“No, no, let’s stop,” Neal insisted. “I know a nice little hole-in-the-wall around here. It’s only a little ways down the road. Ten minutes, tops.”

Emma looked unsure. “It won’t take us out of our way?” she asked. “I don’t want to waste time.”

“It’s right _on_ our way,” Neal promised. “Besides, you’ve got to keep your strength up, don’t you?” 

“I guess,” she said dubiously, though her eyes drifted longingly ahead, where the castle turrets were just _barely_ visible. “I wanted to make it before nightfall.”

“We will,” Neal assured her; she still looked rather unconvinced, so he added, “Think of it this way: it’s all part of the kingdom experience—exploring the edges, meeting the riffraff in shady bars—”

“The what in the _what?”_ Emma repeated in alarm.

“They’re not really riffraff,” Neal amended quickly. “They’re more like… _artists.”_

“Artists?” she frowned, looking suspicious.

“Starving artists. Free-thinkers. Rebels…” Neal considered her warily, wondering if she was buying it. “They’re not bad people, it’s just that…nobody _understands them._ ”

Emma’s expression cleared. “Well, that, I get,” she said with a little sigh, her shoulders slumping. “My parents don't understand me, either.”

“Mmm.” Neal shook his head sympathetically. “So you _do_ understand.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, the frying pan tucked under her chin, staring sightlessly ahead. “I guess I do.”

“So…maybe we could drop by the tavern?” Neal suggested. “It’s a great place, you know, full of creative spirits like you.” _Probably the most terrifying place your little blonde head could imagine._ “Artists, free-thinkers…” _Murderers, thieves…_ “People who just need a second chance.” _They’ll eat you alive, with dipping sauce and a side of fries._ “I mean, don’t get me wrong, if you’re scared, we’ll skip it. But if you can’t handle _this,_ I don’t know how you’re going to handle the kingdom…”

Emma frowned, and snapped her head up. “Of course I can handle it!” she said haughtily. “Lead the way, Cassidy—we’ve got a tavern to get to!”

Neal’s eyebrows jumped at her sudden enthusiasm; he put up his hands cautiously, and said, “O-okay, let’s just relax, Blondie. You’re at a ten—I’m going to need you to take it down to, like, a four.”

“Onward!” she insisted, flinging her pan forward.

“All right, shh!” Neal clapped his hand over her mouth, ignoring her muffled protests. “Look, sweetheart, I know you’re excited, but I wasn't kidding about the wild animals. You’ve got to keep your voice down, or we’re not going to make it to the kingdom at all.”

Emma glowered at him over his hand, but she gave a reluctant nod, nonetheless. Neal smiled briefly before releasing her, and put his hands on her shoulders to turn her around. 

“All right, let’s go,” he said. “Keep close, Blondie.”

“It’s _Emma._ ”

“…I knew that.”

* * *

 

The Ugly Duckling. 

That was the name of the tavern Neal had lead her to. _The Ugly Duckling._  

She didn't know where they got “duckling”, but it was _definitely_ ugly, that was for damn sure. Even before they walked inside, the grimy walls and dusty windows set her stomach churning. And the door! Her eyes widened at the dark stains on the moldy wood, and she tightened her grip on the frying pan.

“I-is that blood?” she whispered to Neal. “Does that look like blood to you?”

“Oh, sure,” Neal said cheerfully. “It really adds personality to the place, don’t you think?”

Before she had a chance to argue, he flung out his hand and pushed the door open. “Barkeep!” he called out confidently. “Your finest table, if you don't mind! And maybe a free drink for the birthday girl?”

Thirty pairs of suspicious eyes switched in their direction. Emma stumbled back, colliding with Neal.

“You okay, Blondie?” he asked, catching her around the shoulders. “Not too scared, are you?”

Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the blood-spattered walls; the splintered wooden planks; the grimy candles lighting the grimier tables; the clientele of shady, hardened, blade-wielding men in ragged, rum-soaked clothing. One of them leaned back in his seat, regarding them with glaring blue eyes, the hook on his left wrist digging deliberately into the table.

“I’m not scared,” she managed, barely above a whisper. _“I’ll be fine._ ”

“You’re sure?” Neal said in her ear, guiding her further in. “I mean, look at this place, it seems kind of shady—and this is a _nice_ bar. Look at those guys over there! They’ve done time— _hard time,_ I bet. And that bartender? Ten ducats says, his wife is buried under the floorboard.”

Emma looked at him in alarm. “ _What_?”

Neal grinned, and opened his mouth—

A _snap!_ cracked, and a voice growled, “Get him.”

Two thugs came from behind them, clapping their hands over Neal’s shoulders and hauling him up. Neal sputtered indignantly, flailing his arms, Emma frantically tugging on his boot.

“Let go of him!” she pleaded. “Please—please, I need him, he’s my guide!”

“Get off!” Neal demanded. “Blondie, help me out here!”

“I’m trying!”

“Where’s the frying pan?”

“Don’t bother,” the hook-handed man drawled, motioning his thugs forward. They obeyed, bringing the struggling Neal with them; with a decisive _thud!,_ they dropped him into the opposite chair, keeping firm hold on his shoulders. 

“Stop it!” Emma pushed her way forward, ending up between the two men. “Please let him go?” she appealed to the hook-handed man. “You don’t understand, I _need_ him.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, keeping his eyes on Neal. “But your boyfriend here is a wanted man, and his capture is going to pay for the mahogany engravings I’ve been wanting for my ship.”

“Okay, let’s just get a few things straight here,” Neal snapped. “ _One—_ mahogany engravings are overrated and adding new embellishments to an old ship is just going to make the rest of it look even crappier. _Two—_ I’m not her boyfriend, that’s completely ridiculous, and I demand an apology.”

“Hey,” Emma frowned. 

“You’re right,” Neal nodded; then looked back to the man, jutting his head at Emma. “She gets one, too.”

The hook-handed man smiled blandly. “You’re not in a position to argue with me. Especially, if you are who I think you are.”

“And who do you think I am?” Neal scoffed. 

He drew a piece of paper out his coat with a flourish, and pinned it to the table with his hook so hard, it rattled. “Neal Cassidy. Wanted for robbery, breaking and entering, and obstruction of justice.” He flashed a wicked smile. “A thousand crowns for your capture.”

“That’s it?” Neal said, affronted. “I’ve lifted at least half a million crowns’ worth, all I’m worth is a lousy thousand?”

“Captain Jones,” one of the thugs grunted. “Can we hit him now?”

“Not yet, Derek,” the captain replied. “I’m still working. But once I’m finished, yes—you may hit him.”

“No!” Emma objected. “Sir—captain—please just hear me out?”

Jones flicked his eyes over briefly. “You’re wasting your time on a fugitive, darling,” he said. “Go home, I’m sure your parents are worried.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Instantly, Emma thought of Graham and Regina: hovering over her, suffocating her, trying to keep her behind those impossibly tall stone wall, locked in that jail cell they called a bedroom! 

She slammed her hand and frying pan on the table, making both men jump. “I am _not_ going home!” she said heatedly. “I’ve been trying to escape _home_ for eighteen years, and I only made it this far because of Neal! Look—” her voice turned desperate, almost begging—“haven’t you ever had a dream? Something you’ve wanted more than anything your whole life?”

Jones stared at her, half-frozen with bewilderment. 

“Haven’t you ever felt so trapped in your own misery, you knew you’d go completely mad if you didn't get out?” Emma pressed. “Like it was your destiny was calling you, and you knew you just—you just had to do it?”

Jones blinked. “Um—”

“Please?” Emma said, biting her lip as tears (which may or may not have been fake) filled her eyes. “Please, sir…I’m desperate. I finally have a chance to change my life, and if you don’t let him go…I’ll never get this chance again.”

Beside her, Derek sniffed, drawing a finger under his eye. Jones glanced at him; then back at Emma, knitting his brow. 

“You’re really depending on this guy to help you change your life?” he asked, somewhat incredulously. 

“I need him,” she sighed. “It’s a whole thing, it’s hard to explain, but…yes. Yes, I’m really depending on him.”

“Oh, come on, sir,” another man said. “Help the girl, we can always find another fugitive.”

“Yeah,” several more echoed. Emma shone a grateful smile at them.

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it with all her heart. She looked back at Jones. “Please?”

“Now, hold on,” Jones said, holding up his hand. “Much as I admire your fight for independence, I can’t just—”

“Let the man go!” Derek objected, and a chorus of, “YEAH!” sounded behind him. “This girl’s got a life to live!”

“YEAH!”

“She shouldn't have to pay for his crimes! She deserves a chance!”

“YEAH!”

Jones shifted his eyes around, looking at his crew—all of whom were staring daggers. “I mean…” he began helplessly, spreading his arms. “You’re really putting me on the spot here—”

“And,” Emma added, tucking her hair behind her ear with a shrug, “it’s also my birthday. Just so you know.”

Jones closed his eyes as his crew’s voices rose in volume, overlapping as they insisted he release Neal. “Guys,” he said exasperatedly. “You guys—”

“It’s her _birthday!_ ”

“We’ve got plenty of other jobs!”

“Why don’t we just go back to ambushing other ships?”

“Who needs mahogany engravings, anyway? He’s right, it’s just going to make the rest of the ship look cheap!”

“OI, I’M STILL CAPTAIN HERE, AND I GIVE THE BLOODY ORDERS!” Jones roared, standing up from his chair. “And _I_ say…”

He glared around the room at his crew. Emma watched apprehensively as the crew members glared back, some of them folding their arms defiantly; others meaningfully examining their fists. The captain was ironically one of the smaller men, amongst the crew of great, hulking pirates, and in that moment it became very apparent. He swallowed, looking less confident than he had a minute ago, and slowly retook his seat.

“And I say…let the man go,” he sighed. “Far be it from me to detain a young girl from following her dreams.”

Neal stared at him for a minute; then narrowed his eyes, lifting a quizzical eyebrow. “What about that apology?”

“Don’t push your luck, kid,” Jones said through his teeth. “I’ve got a very limited supply of generosity to work with.”

Neal raised his hands in surrender, nodding his head. “Point taken, point taken,” he said. “So, uh—” he cleared his throat—“does this mean we can go?”

“I’ll not stop you,” Jones said, crinkling the “Wanted” poster in his hand. _“Apparently—_ ” he shot his crew a dark look—“I’ll have a mutiny on my hands, if I do.”

“Right.” Neal scratched the side of his face, looking around curiously. “And, uh..say we wanted to hang around, have a bite…?”

“Your choice,” Jones said, thoroughly irritated. “It would be extremely awkward, though, so maybe you should consider other venues.”

Neal looked at Emma, raising his eyebrows. “What do you say, Blondie? Stay here—” he swept his hand, gesturing at the room of (friendly?) thugs—“which, by far, is the safest place we’ll run into, out here in the real world…or go on?”

Emma slit her eyes, and set her frying pan on its side with a deliberate _thud!  “_ I think I’ve proved I don’t scare as easily as we thought,” she said icily. “So, here’s what’s going to happen, Cassidy: first, you’re going to buy me a birthday cupcake; and then you’re going to take me the rest of the way to the kingdom _without_ trying to scare me into going back home. You want that crown? You have to earn it.”

“What’s this about a crown?” Jones frowned, his eyes darting between them.

“Nothing, nothing,” Neal said, shaking his head as he got up from his chair. He put his hand on Emma’s shoulder to guide her to the counter. “Come on…Let’s get that birthday cupcake.”

 


End file.
